Surplus Reprieve
by Dromeda
Summary: Follows my story 'Captive Audience' - Forge has a little gift for Rogue.


**Author's Notes:** Takes place after my story _Captive Audience_. Title comes from the song "If There's a Rocket Tie Me To It" by Snow Patrol.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Characters are the property of Marvel. I'm just borrowing them for awhile.

* * *

**Surplus Reprieve**

"What a piece of junk!"

Rogue cleared her throat for the second time. She'd been standing in the doorway to Forge's workshop for the past three minutes waiting for him to notice her.

"Dear Lord, it's _backwards_! Who _built_ this crap?"

Forge was head and shoulders inside the guts of some unidentifiable piece of equipment and didn't appear to be coming out anytime soon.

With a roll of her eyes Rogue strolled over to Forge's workstation, leaned her elbows on the tabletop with chin in hand. "Hey ya, Forge."

_Thwack!_ "Ow!" Forge emerged from his latest work rubbing the back of his skull. "Oh hey, Rogue."

"I thought you were supposed to be helping Hank with the Science Lab upgrades."

Forge shrugged, "Yeah well, directives are lame, anyway."

Rogue smirked. "You and Hank kept stepping on each other's toes, huh?"

Forge grinned sheepishly. "The guy's a total perfectionist. You don't install something _exactly_ where he wants it and he's all 'Out! Get out of my lab!'" He shrugged once again. "So, what can I do ya for? By the way, you're certainly looking better."

Rogue's gloved fingers brushed the skin of her face; skin that not twelve hours before had been left bruised and bloodied after Quicksilver had used her as his own personal punching bag. Logan—another good one for following orders—was supposed to rest and let his overworked healing powers recharge before lending her his mutation especially after Hank had given her a once over and confirmed that none of her injuries were life-threatening. However, he'd lasted the entire ten minutes it took to get him upstairs and settled in his room before he speared fingers through her hair and gently kissed her swollen, busted lips.

"Yeah, all healed up now and _you_ called _me_ down here, remember?"

"I did?" Forge asked with brow scrunched. "Oh yeah, I did." He went back to fiddling with the piece of equipment in front of him.

"And?" Rogue prompted.

"Hm?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"Oh! Sorry." Forge walked over to a security panel set into the wall, typed in a code, and waited while a previously-hidden drawer slid out of the wall. He reached inside and pulled out a flat, round metal case about an inch and a half thick. "So, how's Logan doing? He looked pretty wrecked himself when I picked the two of you up in the jet," Forge asked as he closed the drawer and made his way back over to the worktable.

"Down for the count," Rogue replied, rolling a screwdriver back and forth between her hands. "But he'll wake-up in a couple of hours, eat us out of house and home, and be right as rain."

"Huh," Forge sat the metal case in front of her on the table. "I want a healing factor when I grow up."

"So, what's this?" Rogue asked with a nod at the case.

Forge grabbed the case back up and began to turn it nervously round and round in his hands. "Okay, so, I asked Logan about it, but he said I should talk to you. But you weren't here and you know what it's like when an idea gets stuck in your head." He worked the catch on the case and sat it—now open—back in front of her. "Anyway, I finished it this morning."

Rogue reached inside and pulled out a matte grey circle of chunky metal about fifteen inches in diameter. "What is it?" she asked again.

"Mutation-suppression collar."

She narrowed her eyes. "Wait a second, I thought Logan said these things were dangerous?"

"The original version was. This is a safe version. Well, saf_er_ version, anyway."

Rogue ran the collar through her fingers. Even through her gloves she could feel a fine tracery of lines that marked the circuitry. The metal was hinged on either side of a round, blue faceted stone of some kind.

"The original version was little more than a glorified prototype," Forge explained. "I designed it based on the description of a similar device Magneto once used on the X-Men that I read about in an old mission file. The biggest problem was the power source—it emitted a very low level of radiation that made prolonged use a health hazard. That's the first change I made," Forge pointed to the blue faceted piece. "This new power source is completely safe and ultra efficient. It's even self-recharging; it pulls what it needs right out of the environment. It's Worthington Industries tech we got access to before Warren..." He trailed off and Rogue nodded sadly. "I've also made adjustments to the electromagnetic frequency used by the collar. The old collar could only be worn for around two hours before the wearer began experiencing headaches and other symptoms. I've improved that to eight hours. You'll have to leave the collar off at least two hours between wearings to allow your body to re-regulate itself."

Rogue pulled the collar open and clicked it shut again. "So, eight hours on, two hours off. Now, tell me, what's the catch?" Because there had to be one—all this seemed far too good to be true. After her mutation first manifested, Rogue spent months trying to pray it away; she tried wishing it away. Tried every so-called cure from every snake-oil salesman she could find. It wasn't until she arrived at the mansion and Charles Xavier told her—sadly yet, firmly—that her mutation simply wasn't controllable that she gave up her obsession and resigned herself to the life sentence of her skin.

And now she held the potential for eight hours of skin on skin contact in the palm of her hand. Ten minutes relief from her mutation would be beyond glorious but _eight hours_... Forge had just handed her the stuff of daydreams.

Now where's the rub?

Forge grimaced. "The collar hasn't been tested. Like I said, I just finished it this morning. In theory everything should work exactly like I said..."

"But you won't know for sure until I try it out," Rogue finished.

He nodded. "I suggest you break-in the collar slowly over the next few days: wear it two to three hours the first day, four to five the second, and so on; just to make sure you can tolerate the collar for the full eight hours. If you experience any skin irritations, headaches, or any other suspicious symptoms take the collar off immediately and go see Hank. Also, I've programmed the collar to turn itself off at the eight hour mark as a bit of fail-safe."

"Okay." Rogue slid the collar back in its case and clicked it shut. "Thank you for this, Forge."

Forge had gone back to his project and was watching her sidelong as he fidgeted with his tools. "So, you're not angry?"

Rogue smiled as she picked up the case and stepped towards the doorway. "Nope, not angry. In fact, I owe you one, Forge."

"You're welcome, Rogue," he called as she walked away.

* * * * * *

Rogue slid into Logan's bedroom and closed the door silently behind her. Logan was still sound asleep. He was lying on his back with his right arm resting heavily on his bare stomach and his left thrown across the empty side of the bed. The sheets rode low around his hips and tangled in his sweat pant covered legs.

She smiled.

Rogue padded over to the left side of the bed and sat the case containing her new collar on the bedside table. She flipped open the case, took out the collar, and clipped it in place around her neck. A pins-and-needles sensation traveled up from the collar to her scalp and down to the soles of her feet. The sensation lasted only a moment. She began working the tips of her gloves off her fingers; hating that, coming from her, the move felt somehow sinister. She tossed the gloves onto the table next to the case.

Rogue stood by the side of the bed and watched Logan sleep. There were no signs of his all-too-frequent nightmares. She watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and longed to do something sexy; like kiss a trail up Logan's beautifully sculpted torso and wake him with a kiss on the lips that left him panting—from passion, not the life-sucking force of her mutation.

Instead, she stood there with her bare hands clenched in fists so tight her nails bit crescents into her palms. Her usual boldness had taken a backseat to the express train of doubt on Track One. _In theory_, he'd said. Forge was a genius, but he wasn't infallible. What if the collar's a dud? The tiny ember of hope that had sparked when Forge had explained the collar to her had blazed into a raging inferno in just the time it'd taken her to walk to Logan's bedroom. And if she reached out now and felt that old familiar pull, the disappointment would be beyond crushing.

Rogue uncurled her fists and looked at her ungloved hands. Again, she hated that her standing over Logan's sleeping form with skin bared felt nefarious—like a predator looming over its prey. She knew she was being ridiculous; this man loves her, welcomes any touch from her-from their all-too-brief kisses to lending her his mutation to heal her hurts. He'd given her an open invitation to his person...

And no one would ever accuse Rogue of being a coward.

Rogue bit down on her lower lip as she reached a tentative finger towards the arm Logan had slung across the bed, her index finger hovered over the thickly muscled bicep. With a deep breath she closed the distance and grazed the skin of his arm. At the contact a small animal noise escaped her throat. Tears welled in her eyes.

No pull.

No incoming rush of memories and emotions.

The collar worked!

Rogue's fingertips followed the trail of veins down the crook of his elbow and down his forearm to where his fingers curled-in slightly over his palm. By now she was light-headed and weak-kneed and it was either sit down or fall down.

Rogue sat heavily on the bed facing the headboard with her left leg tucked beneath her. The movement caused Logan to stir but not wake. After a few steadying breaths, she reached out again. This time she traced her left hand up the arm that rested on his stomach. Her fingers ran through the hair on his forearm, lingered on the muscles of bicep and shoulder, traced across his collar bone to the chain round his neck. She traced the path of that chain down through his dark chest hair to his dogtag and up the other side where his heart beat strongly beneath her palm.

Rogue leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the skin above that strong beat. It was then she felt a strong hand curve against the back of her head. She looked up and into a pair of sleepy blue eyes.

"Hey," Logan greeted groggily.

"Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?" she asked.

Logan ran a hand across his face. "Starvin'."

"I figured as much." Rogue went to get up but Logan pulled her down next to him instead. They now lay facing one another in his bed. She knew he'd already taken in the collar around her neck and her bare hands but, with Logan, first things first. His gaze traveled across her face, lingering on all the places she'd been bloodied and bruised.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

"How 'bout up here?" Logan tapped her temple lightly, "Any of them giving you trouble?"

Rogue shook her head. "After you conked out I spent a couple of hours in my room filing them away. They're fading pretty quickly now. Magneto held on longer so he was a bit louder and harder to deal with. That fresh dose of you helped put him in his place. It's pretty quiet up there now. I think the collar helps." Rogue ran her fingers across the metal around her neck. "Forge made me a little gift."

"So I see," Logan said with a grin. "I thought I'd told him to give Hank a hand in the Science Lab."

"'Directives are lame, anyway'," she quoted with a dismissive wave of a hand.

Logan huffed out a laugh. "Hank hiked his skinny ass outta the lab, didn't he?"

"Mm-hm," Rogue nodded.

Logan reached out and traced the edge of the collar. "So, what's the deal with this?"

"Up to eight hours with two hours between wearings. I'm supposed to break it in over the next couple days so only three hours today."

"And it's safe?" Logan asked.

Rogue nodded. "Forge says so but I'm supposed to take it off if I experience any skin irritations or headaches."

While they spoke Logan's hand drifted from the collar down her arm to the curve of her hip where it lingered. He began stroking a line from hip to the base or her ribcage, his hand inching up the hem of her shirt with each pass. She gasped when she felt his thumb caress the skin of her waist.

Suddenly he rolled and pulled her body beneath his. His weight held off of her by his elbows, he gazed deep into Rogue's green eyes. "Promise me you won't take any chances with this; that you'll take it off if you feel strange at all."

Rogue met his gaze, "I promise."

"Good," Logan replied. "I know how much this means to you," he nodded at the collar, "but it's only a convenience. Whatever happens while you're wearing that collar would've happened without it."

God, she loved this man. Rogue ran her fingers through his muttonchops, "I know." And she did. Whatever the amount of bodystockings and latex and other protective layers required, Logan would've found a way for them to be together.

Then Logan's lips captured hers and, for a moment, she forgot how to breathe. Before their kisses had been a quick brushing of the lips always with the anticipation of the pull of her skin. She'd dreamed of kissing Logan this way. She may've resigned herself to a life without skin-on-skin contact, but she'd spent many a night fantasizing what it would be like between herself and Logan if she could touch.

Fantasy had nothing on reality.

"Mmm, the kid does good work," Logan said, kissing her chin, her jawline, behind her ear. "Maybe I should give him a raise."

Rogue delighted in the scratch and burn of the stubble of his upper lip and chin on her skin. Later there'd be marks but, right now, she didn't give a damn. "Or just crash the jet less often."

"Occupational hazard, darlin', ain't nothing can be done about that." And his mouth was on hers again, hot and insistent. The hand not holding his weight off her stroked beneath the hem of her shirt, up her ribs to caress her breast through her bra. She, in turn, pressed her body closer to his.

Rogue couldn't decide where to put her hands so she touched him everywhere she could. She petted the springy hair and firm muscle of his chest, over his shoulders, down his back to his perfect ass where her fingers dug in, back up his back and into his hair where she anchored her hands.

Logan ran his hand down her firm thigh, hooked her leg beneath the knee, and brought it up to wrap around his waist. Rogue had just mimicked the move with her other leg when Logan's stomach rumbled loudly.

Logan pulled back with a groaned "Damn."

Rogue laughed softly, "Come on, cowboy. Let's get you fed."

"Good idea." Logan kissed her nose, her mouth, her chin. "Besides, there's no rush." With one final kiss Logan rolled to the side of the bed and got up. Rogue followed suit.

While Logan gathered his clothes Rogue hopped up on the edge of his dresser. She panicked slightly at the sight of her own bare hands resting on her knees. With a monumental amount of will power she resisted the urge to pull her sleeves down over her palms and focused her attention on Logan instead. She watched unabashedly as he shrugged into a gray t-shirt and exchanged the sweat pants for his usual jeans and boots.

"All right, darlin', let's go raid the kitchen," Logan said while fastening his belt buckle. "After that I'm headin' downstairs for a little chat with Forge."

Rogue reached inside the neck of his t-shirt bringing his dogtag to rest on the outside of his shirt. "What for?" she asked as she hopped down off the dresser.

Logan placed a hand to either side of her on the dresser-top, trapping her between the piece of furniture and his body. "Well, I have big plans for you, darlin', and they start with findin' out whether or not this collar of yours is waterproof."

With a wink and a leer Logan sauntered out the door leaving Rogue flushed, flustered, and rushing to catch up.

-END-


End file.
